To begin, i am 100% new to the blogging world. I know the word, i know the meaning but have never read or contributed to one myself. With that being said, please excuse any faux pas', i am sure to make and just read on...its bound to get better....right?!
This blog is primarily meant to be a work in progress. Similar to a live memoir, a continuing autobiography where hopefully, at some point, i will feel a sense of completion. The best place to begin is at the beginning. Okay, cliche i know, but where the hell else am i to start. I am not some famous person. A man of great knowledge or power..to others anyway. in my minds eye i am all of this and more. In the company of my current circle, i suppose i am famous...in my own right, in my town (and possibly entire state) on some level. But who says you need to be famous or someone with great wealth to write such a body of text. NO ONE! Plenty of people on the other hand, say you have to have some type of status for others to read such a piece of work and give some type of a shit about the focal point! Well to hell with them.
I'm a man, in my early thirties, living in the small New England town of Vermont. I have lived here the entirety of my existence in one town or another. To be completely truthful, i believe i will continue to remain in this small state, content with life...or at least tolerating it. I am the son of two of the most caring and self sacrificing people i know. I have a younger sister and a nephew. From the outside, and based on those facts alone, one would think i lead a normal, down to earth life..one would be wrong.
I was born in lat January, 1978 in Berlin, Vermont. For the first seven years of my life, i was an only child. I remember a good deal of those times, some of the best i ever had. Everyone who has ever written anything about themselves, usually say about the same thing. Its because its the truth. YOUR A KID! You eat, sleep poop and play. That's your daily routine. And unless you are one of the "statistics", that had some kind of shitty childhood because of some deadbeat parents, or some uncle with "wondering hands", you can probably say the same. My earliest childhood memory is of what i have determined to be preschool or possibly kindergarten. I remember at recess there were these awesome tubes, which looking back on it, were some sort of public works or city equipment that was probably donated by the city. They also had these bicycles. Not your everyday ordinary ones, but high wheel bikes! These things were what every kid went for when the bell rang. I can only remember one time where i was able to make it to one of these sought after, mobile death traps. There i was, five, six feet in the air. Perched on this contraption, i distinctly remember thinking "wow, that's a long way to fall". After pedaling a few feet, the lumbering beast decided the ride was over. And on no uncertain terms, bucked me off like a raging bronco. I remember coming too, and the excruciating pain that burned and shot through my face. This was, but the beginning, of a life time of injuries. I don't remember much more of that experience, but i do remember NEVER going near one of those bikes again...ever.
My mom used to pick me up from the school, in my dad's 1969, flake blue, Pontiac GTO. The rear end of the car had these monster tires, which, for my mom, made it impossible to see anything under four feet tall while in the drivers seat. We would leave the school yard, drive about half a mile and stop at a small convenience store, where my mom would buy me a pint of chocolate milk. This was not some special treat, this was a daily occurrence. While i would sip the milk through a straw (usually), my mom would ask me about my day. She seemed to take genuine interest in what i was saying. Although now having a three year old nephew of my own, im sure some of the interest in my babbling was feigned. This small, and seemingly insignificant interaction, has and will, stay chiseled into my memory forever. It was my mom, and me, sharing a moment, something which i wish was more of an occurrence now in my adulthood.
My mom was my role model for much of my childhood. I learned a great deal from her...well her and the countless shows i would watch on TV. Until recently, i had lived under the assumption that both of my parents had graduated high school. I found this was in fact, not true. They had dropped out, got married and had me. My mom and dad, high school drop outs. This puzzled and confused me in a way i can not put into words. The two people, i looked up to, learned the most from, were not high school graduates. Please understand, i am not ashamed of this by any means. as a matter of fact, i am proud of this. My parents, without a full high school education, raised two children, neither of which were ever held back in any grade, and graduated high school with flying colors. Let that sit out there for a minute. Think of all the times you have ever brought home a piece of homework and asked a parent for help. You expect help! The right help! And my parents did the best they could, and got me and my sister through school. This is a perfect example of what i mean when i refer to my parents as "self sacrificing". It was always us, before them..always.
